


Barely Breathing

by akamine_chan



Category: Durham County, due South
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-20
Updated: 2009-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-02 12:17:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akamine_chan/pseuds/akamine_chan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His hand was shaking a little as he reached out to touch the one that had caught his eye—plain brown leather and a stainless steel clasp. Slowly, the picked it up, marveling at how light it was in his hands, wondering how it would feel buckled around his throat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Barely Breathing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sionnain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sionnain/gifts), [waltzforanight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltzforanight/gifts).



> Warning: breathplay and BSDM.
> 
> This takes place in the universe created by Sionnain - you should read [what else would you have me be?](http://community.livejournal.com/sionnain_fics/99207.html) and [resistance (is futile?)](http://community.livejournal.com/sionnain_fics/98861.html) first. Not that you'll need to. This is porn, pure and simple - uncluttered by things such as plot and character development.
> 
> This particular bunny leaped out at me and took my brain hostage and wouldn't give it back. For that, I firmly blame Waltzforanight and Sionnain for even coming up with this left-field pairing. And so, a gift fic for those two evil women. And I made Waltzforanight beta her own present. *beams* I love this fandom.
> 
> Seriously, mucho thanks to Waltzforanight for a stellar beta. Any remaining mistakes are because my brain melted. Title stolen from Duncan Sheik, icon stolen from Waltzforanight, universe stolen from Sionnain.
> 
> Also many, many thanks are due to Lucifuge_5, enabler extraordinaire. Thanks, sweetie.
> 
> So, ladies, happy July the 20th, 'k? Enjoy.

Ray had been half-heartedly thinking about shopping for a new leather jacket. The old one, the black one that he'd had since before he and Stella had gotten married, had finally given up the ghost. One too many dunkings into the Lake They Call Michigan, one too many dumpster dives.

Which really sucked, because he'd finally gotten it broken in just the way he liked it, soft and comfortable, supple and warm to the touch.

He'd loved that old jacket.

Ray had found a leather repair shop in Mont Clare and had taken the jacket in. Frankie, the owner, examined it mournfully and shaken his head in despair. "I've been working with leather for more than fifty years, Ray, and I've never seen such a beautiful jacket ruined so thoroughly before. It's a damn shame."

Ray agreed. It was a damned shame. "Fuck."

* * *

Ray moped for three days before Mike gave him a metaphorical kick in the ass.

"You're pathetic, Kowalski. Just go buy a new jacket and stop whining to me about it. I've got other things to worry about, like how I'm gonna get rid of Sadie's new 'boyfriend' without getting caught." Mike made air quotes around the word boyfriend, which made Ray grin and kiss him, hard.

"Be nice to your daughter, Sweeney."

Mike smacked him not-so-gently in the head. "Does she _pay_ you to say that?" He grabbed the back of Ray's neck and squeezed, ignoring Ray's choked laugh.

"Nope. I just tell you that because I know it annoys you."

"Fucker."

Ray just smiled and let Mike drag him into the bedroom.

* * *

A couple of days later Ray took the afternoon off and went shopping for real.

Ray checked out a couple of trendier stores before hitting the thrift shops. The Salvation Army ones were kind of scary but he found some nicer places that had some pretty cool stuff. He picked up some shirts and a couple of pairs of jeans; worn but not too ratty, perfect.

While Stella had been in law school, they'd been too poor to shop anywhere _but_ thrift stores. For Christmas or birthdays, her parents would take them shopping for new clothes, but for the rest of the time, they had made do with used. They'd both gotten handy with a needle and thread—Ray could sew a mean button, though it'd been years since he'd had to.

Vecchio, for the short time they'd been partners, had given him a hard time about his clothes. He'd gotten the "you're seriously not wearing that out in public" look from him, his mum, _and_ Stella over the years; none of them had understood Ray's desire for well-used clothes. It'd been camouflage of a sort, a hiding-in-plain sight kind of thing.

Ray had assumed that Mike, with his suit jackets and silk shirts and blazers, would be the same way. But in all honesty, Mike was more interested in taking clothes _off_ of Ray than being concerned with what Ray was actually wearing.

With Mike, Ray _never_ felt the need to hide himself away, but the habit remained.

* * *

Ray hit pay dirt in the fifth store he tried. On a rack of various coats, he found an old motorcycle jacket, black leather, worn but barely scuffed. He tried it on and it fit perfectly, weighing heavily across his shoulders, a solid, comforting feel. All the zippers worked smoothly and someone had taken the time to clean up the buttons and snaps.

The best part was that it was well within Ray's budget.

On the way to the register to pay for his new jacket, Ray passed by a display of what Fraser would surely have called "accouterments"—wallets, belts, gloves, purses and—his heart skipped a beat as his breath got caught in his throat—collars.

His hand was shaking a little as he reached out to touch the one that had caught his eye—plain brown leather and a stainless steel clasp. Slowly, the picked it up, marveling at how light it was in his hands, wondering how it would feel buckled around his throat.

He bought it, and the jacket, feeling terrified and excited and aroused all at once.

* * *

Ray got back to the apartment and carefully hung up the jacket.

Mike would be home soon and he wanted to get a shower, wash the sweat of the half-day's work off of his skin.

He took his time in the shower, relaxing, letting the hot spray ease away the tension he didn't realize he'd been carrying in his shoulders since he saw the collar.

His cock had been hard for a while now and he wanted to touch himself, wanted to squeeze and stroke and rub to ease the ache, but he didn't. It would be better if he waited.

Ray dried himself off with one of their big fluffy towels and carefully put on some clean jeans, deliberately going commando. He grinned to himself. Mike liked it when he was slutty.

He looked at the collar sitting on the ledge of the sink and felt his smile fall away. Fear and arousal twisted his stomach into knots. He could throw the damn thing away before Mike got home and Ray could stop thinking about the feel of leather tight around his throat.

No. _No._ Ray _needed_ this; he didn't know why but that strap of leather called to something wild in him and he wanted to see where it would take them.

Quickly, not giving himself time to think about it, he shaved and brushed his teeth, and took a moment to carelessly spike his hair. Looking himself over in the mirror, he had to admit that he didn't look half bad. There were more wrinkles on his face than he was happy with, but a lot of those he could attribute to being partners with a freakish Canadian Mountie. The silver in his hair—he blamed Mike for that. All that anger and intensity...

Ray stood there, barefoot, wearing clean jeans. He didn't bother to put a shirt on. He didn't want anything to distract from what he was going to be wearing around his neck.

He got goosebumps just thinking about it and his cock was hard, so fucking hard. Looking at the clock, he saw that he had about twenty minutes until Mike was due home. Swallowing hard, he picked up the collar and held it in his hands.

It felt warm and almost alive and he rubbed at the leather, loving the firm smoothness of the material. The clasp jangled quietly and he looked at himself in the mirror again.

His reflection looked terrified, eyes wide and dilated, mouth slack, chest rising and falling quickly in time with his accelerated heartbeat. He felt so fucking _alive_, every part of him trembling and electrified with this taut anticipation...

Before he could lose his nerve, he buckled the collar around his throat and dug his fingers into his hair, tugging hard. The minor pain distracted him for a moment, centered him on something other that the fierce, almost unbearable _want_ that raced through his blood.

"Oh, fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, shifting his weight from foot to foot, desperately searching for some kind of friction.

The collar was snug but not tight. It didn't obstruct his breathing, didn't choke, didn't hurt. It was just enough to remind Ray of its presence with each and every breath and Ray was going to fucking come in his nice clean jeans if he didn't get control of himself _right_ now...

Pulling harder on his hair, he bit his lip and fought not to moan. Ray tried to concentrate on slowing down his breathing, to calm down a little but that just made him even more aware of the collar.

With a final, futile tug on his hair, he grabbed the sink and put his burning face against the cold porcelain. He _had_ to get himself under control. He stood there for a long time, thinking about snow, and ice, and the frozen emptiness of Canada.

When he'd cooled off a bit, the arousal was still humming under his skin, but at a level that allowed for some rational thought. He splashed cold water on his face and checked his reflection one last time before heading into the bedroom.

* * *

He laid down on their bed, partially supported by a pillow, wove his fingers together behind his head and started counting.

_One._

_Two._

_Three._

_Four._

* * *

Ray heard the front door squeak open, listened intently as Mike dropped his keys on the coffee table, as he went into the kitchen and opened the fridge and got a bottle of water. His heart started to pound again and his stomach was fluttering madly. He laced his fingers together even tighter, shut his eyes and waited.

_Eight hundred and fifteen._

_Eight hundred and sixteen._

_Eight hundred and seventeen._

_Eight hundred and eighteen._

_Eight hundred and nineteen._

* * *

"Ray?"

He felt the mattress dip as Mike sat at the foot of the bed, hopefully staring at the picture Ray made, sprawled on the bed, hands tucked behind his head, casually framing the collar.

_Nine hundred and sixty-seven._

_Nine hundred and sixty-eight._

_Nine hundred and sixty-nine._

_Nine hundred and—_

"Don't say a word, don't open your eyes and _don't_ fucking move." Mike's voice was rough and raw, and Ray shivered. The bed shifted again and Ray heard Mike stripping off his work clothes: tie, jacket, shirt, slacks, all thrown carelessly onto the floor.

Mike climbed onto the bed, his solid body coming to rest on top of Ray, his cock pushing insistently into the hollow of Ray's hip. Ray gasped, the sound swallowed by Mike's sudden kiss. Mike pushed his tongue in, exploring and teasing, letting Ray suck on it for a moment before pulling back to nuzzle at the hair behind Ray's ear.

"You look so fucking hot with that collar on," he whispered harshly, tracing the outer rim of Ray's ear before biting at his earlobe. "I'm so fucking hard just looking at you..."

Mike slid his mouth down to Ray's neck, licking and nibbling at the collar while Ray struggled not to move against Mike, fought against the raging urge to twist and thrust and shake. He panted frantically, gasping with the fresh surge of arousal and excitement that pounded through his blood.

Cradling the back of Ray's neck in his big hand, Mike snuck two fingers between leather and flesh, pulling the collar _tight tight tight_ against Ray's throat. Ray could still breathe, but he felt like he wasn't getting enough oxygen, like he was suffocating. But he could still _hear_ himself panting loudly, the rush of air stealing the moisture from his mouth. His body started to panic, to struggle against the constriction around his neck, but he clamped down hard on his instincts and held still, keeping his fingers laced behind his head.

"Okay?" Mike's voice was soft, concerned. For the most part, he was fine with what they did together in bed. Hurting Ray, and Ray _loving_ it. But this was something new for them and Ray could tell that Mike wasn't willing to risk Ray over this hot new kink.

Ray knows, has always known, that the reason why he wasn't afraid of Mike was because Ray trusted him. For Ray, trusting and not-fearing went hand-in-hand, two halves of a whole. So now, even doing something that neither of them had ever anticipating doing, Ray was not afraid.

"Yeah." He had to swallow twice before he could speak, and the words were forced out of his mouth, rough and hoarse. "Yeah. More."

Mike let go of the collar and tugged at the button on Ray's jeans, laughing when he pulled down the zipper and found Ray hot and hard and ready. "Slut," he teased affectionately, grasping Ray's cock and stroking it once. "Did you jack off before I got home? You couldn't wait, could you?"

Mike sounded smug, and Ray thought about opening his eyes and looking at him. But everything felt so much sharper with his eyes closed, so he didn't look.

Ray shook his head in denial. "No, I didn't. I thought about it," he gasped, pushing into Mike's hand, "but I didn't. I waited for you." His hands were starting to cramp behind his head, but he didn't want to let go. Ray's hands always gave away how desperate he was and he didn't want Mike to know how fucking badly he wanted it.

Mike let go of Ray's cock, leaned up and kissed him, open-mouthed and hard, nipping at Ray's lips. "I'm glad." Ray was distracted again by the roughness of the kiss, wanting _more_, needing _more_. He loved the way Mike kissed him, deep and just this side of abrasive.

After stripping off Ray's pants, Mike tossed them to the floor before moving away. Ray kept his eyes closed and listened as Mike opened the night stand drawer and pulled out the lube and a rubber. He heard the slight pop of the bottle and the plastic crinkle of the condom wrapper.

Mike roughly shoved Ray's legs apart, making the space between them _his_, his cock pressing against Ray's asshole, but not pushing _in_ like Ray needs it to be doing. Ray wrapped his legs tightly around Mike's hips, and tried to pull him in. He needed this, he needed Mike, _now_. He'd been hot and hard and horny since he saw the collar in the store and he couldn't wait any more. He had to get fucked. He bit his lip, tasting blood, and threw his head back, groaning.

"Open your eyes and look at me, Ray," Mike panted, holding himself still, refusing to let Ray pull him in. "Look at me."

Ray opened his eyes and looked into Mike's, deep blue and cold, so cold. His eyes were cold but Mike wasn't, he was anything but cold and dead inside. Ray knew this, _knew_ it and felt safe.

He stared into Mike's eyes and as Mike started to push into Ray, he grabbed the collar, sliding three fingers between the leather and Ray's flesh and the collar pulled tight and cut off his air. Ray gasped and struggled for breath, feeling Mike driving in deeper and deeper, not stopping until he was in as far as he could be, a part of Ray.

It hurt, a familiar burning pain, and he couldn't breathe, he couldn't breathe and Mike pulled out, a smooth slide and at the same time the pressure around his windpipe was gone and he inhaled raggedly, gulping air like he was drowning.

Which in a way, he was.

Mike tightened his fingers on the collar every time he thrust in hard, loosened it and let Ray breathe when he withdrew, and Ray was drowning in pleasure. He was riding the knife edge of almost coming, and it was painful and sharp and overwhelming.

Usually, Ray was loud when they fucked: moans and groans, hissed curses and broken sobs. Now, Ray didn't have the breath to spare for sound.

He struggled against the collar, excitement and pain and adrenaline mingling, ratcheting his pleasure higher and higher until he felt light-headed and tingling. Everything seemed razor sharp and clear: the roughness of Mike's cock filling him to the breaking point, the stretch and sting that he craved, the pounding of his heart as he fought for air, the taste of his sweat, the hardness of his own neglected cock that Mike was deliberately _not_ touching.

Ray struggled, breathless, and unexpectedly the wave of pleasure crested over, smashing into him. His back arched and his toes curled and if he could have drawn breath, he would have screamed. His hands flailed out, looking for something to anchor him to the bed, to keep him from breaking apart and distantly, he felt Mike thrust one final time and shudder violently, muttering "Ray, Ray," in a broken voice.

It's the last thing he remembered for a while.

* * *

When Ray woke up, the first thing he noticed was how sore he was. Ass, neck, fingers, shoulders; he felt like someone had beaten him with rubber hoses while he'd slept. Which he was sure he would have woken up for.

Mike's side of the bed was empty and so he got up and staggered to the bathroom, staring in shock at the ring of bruises on his neck. He moved closer to the mirror, gingerly touching them, hissing at how tender the yellow and greenish blotches were.

"You okay?"

He met Mike's eyes in the mirror and there was no disguising the worry. Mike thought that maybe they went too far, thought that maybe this wasn't healthy for them, thought that maybe they weren't good for each other.

Fuck that.

Ray has never, ever felt so comfortable, so accepted, so much at _home_ with another person. Mike looked at Ray, _saw_ him, and liked what he saw. There was no way Ray was giving that up without a fight.

He smiled at Mike's serious expression. "Never better." His grin turned sly. "So, you like the collar, then?"

-fin-


End file.
